Present
by mak324
Summary: What if? A short and sweet alternate take on Season 6. In a universe where Spike had decided to keep his feelings to himself and Buffy had never had to die (or be plucked out of Heaven), what kind of relationship would our favorite couple have developed? How would it have developed? What would those changes have meant in the long run?
1. Chapter 1

How do you destroy a monster without becoming one?

Buffy honestly wasn't sure, but she was beginning to think the correct answer was probably the simplest one.

You don't.

Of course, Professor Keane had meant the question as a philosophical one. Something to be taken rhetorically, and not the super, super literally that she was taking it now. Probably because it wasn't the type of question most people _could_ take literally.

Still, she figured, spinning around and back handing the vampire in front of her, sending him slamming face first into an exceptionally impressive headstone, she thought it was something worth considering.

"I'm just saying, I don't know if you can spend as much time fighting evil as I have and come out of it completely normal," she said casually, continuing the conversation she'd begun earlier, dodging a wild punch from the vampire as he launched himself back toward her. She spun around as he missed and stumbled forward, plunging the stake easily through his back and straight through to the heart. "Don't you think at least _that's_ true?"

Arching a brow, meeting her eyes through the thick cloud of dust, Spike mused, "I think you're readin' too much into it, pet."

Buffy sighed.

"Well it's not like I have references to know whether or not the stuff inside of me eventually gets so strong or so violent that it…takes over. Or whatever." She tucked her stake back into the waistband of her jeans and dusted her hands off. "All the other Slayers were killed before we could find out."

"So what," the bleached blonde chuckled, tilting his head to the side and narrowing his eyes. "You think you live long enough as the Slayer and poof, you wake up one mornin' and you've gone over all evil?"

She considered that for a second before shrugging. "Maybe?"

"Seems a bit counterproductive if you ask me," Spike murmured, turning to fall in step beside her as they headed back toward the open cemetery gate.

"Not really," she disagreed absently, casting the vampire a sideways glance. "I mean, think about it. We're called and given all the Slayer stuff; super strength, super speed, blah, blah, blah." She ticked them off on her fingers as she mentioned them. "We live just long enough to dust our share of vamps and then the next girl's called, leaving no time for the thing that makes us…us, that makes us the Slayer, to take over." She stuffed her hands deep down into her coat pockets and shrugged again, adding, "Hence the short and brutal life span part."

"Hence?" Spike repeated, drawing the word out, a wry smirk twisting his lips as he glanced down at her.

Buffy rolled her eyes.

"Hey buddy, don't mock me, mock the system. I'm a university gal again." She turned her gaze forward again, scanning through the darkness for any further signs of movement. Added thoughtfully, "We use words like 'hence'. And 'inimitable'. And 'esoteric'."

"Yeah?" The vampire chuckled, arched a brow and dug his own hands down into the pockets of his duster. "You learn that one in Philosophy 101?"

"No," Buffy countered readily, "that'd be 'existential'."

Spike barked a short laugh and rolled his eyes up to the night sky as they turned the corner, stepping onto the sidewalk that led back toward Revello Drive.

"Don't you ever miss bein' a drop out?" he grumbled, shaking his head once.

Technically, she'd only been a drop out for a few months. Just through the spring the year before. Just after her mom had died. With everything that had been going on, the funeral arrangements and the general weirdness that had followed, and then everything…after that. Between Dawn's keyness and fighting off Glory, and the near death experience that had followed…well, school just hadn't exactly been a top priority. Even after they'd managed to rescue Dawn and stop Glory from opening her hell portal, even after all that was officially over, it had taken both Buffy and Dawn a long time afterwards to start feeling normal again. Or as normal as either of them could ever really feel, given their ultra abnormal circumstances.

So when the summer had ended and it had been time to re-enroll for classes, she hadn't been ready for it. But she'd done it anyway. Part of setting a good example for her little sister and being a responsible guardian and whatever. That stuff.

Even so, with her nightly Slaying and the part time job she'd taken up at Bloomie's to help cover the cost of her books, an admittedly smallish attempt to give Giles at least a little financial wiggle room, she'd ended up setting more of an example of what _not_ to do.

And that was when Spike had stepped in.

He'd been around more often than usual already, their paths crossing more and more frequently through the months leading up to her mom's death. He'd been sort of lurking around throughout her illness, when things had first started to really get bad. Still more and more often after Riley'd left. It had begun to feel routine to Buffy, something expected. She knew when she'd cut through Restfield before and after patrol that there'd be Spike. Watching, waiting. Sometimes he'd be in the middle of a fight himself. Sometimes he'd just be milling around, smoking. Ready with a quick witted remark or a snide jab, something undeniably button pushing and annoying.

Then things began to change.

Slowly, surely, things between them lightened. Got less tense. Even to the point where she started sort of looking forward to running into him at the end of her night, if only for the needed break from the craziness of her "normal" life.

Things began to really change after Joyce died. His comments became less cutting and more wry, lightly teasing whereas before he'd been out for blood. Over the course of the next few months, things changed so slowly, but so much, that by the time Spike had made an actual, out loud, offer to help Buffy with her workload she'd only been a tiny bit surprised.

At first, it had just been the slaying. He'd volunteered to take over patrol for her when she needed a night to herself, a night to work on homework or to add an extra shift at her job, or just to help Dawn with her homework. Things like that. Then that somehow became the two of them patrolling "together", splitting up to cover more ground at once and cut the average patrol time in half. Then that somehow became them no longer splitting up, but staying _together_ together through the evenings to do their nightly sweeps.

And when exactly it was that he'd started coming over to the house almost on a nightly basis and helping Dawn with her homework, Buffy wasn't even sure.

It seemed to her now like he'd been doing it forever, like he'd just…always been there. That he'd always been this weird little extra appendage in their lives that they'd just never really noticed until they needed it. If she really started to think about it, she wasn't even a little bit comfortable with how heavily both she and her little sister had begun relying on the bleached vampire over the past several months.

Which was why she didn't spend a lot of time thinking about it.

"I was only a drop out for like, two months," she reminded him, pulling her hands out of her pockets and folding her arms across her chest, bracing herself against the brisk mid-March wind.

"Think I liked you better then," Spike said flatly, shifting blue eyes toward her. They were bright in the light from the stars, and gleaming with a certain mischievous spark she'd gotten really good at recognizing over the past few months.

The difference between when he was only teasing and when he was being his usual Spike-ish self.

So Buffy just rolled her eyes and goaded him, "You like me all the time."

Because he did. And she knew he did. And she had a feeling that he knew she knew he did, even if they never really directly addressed it. The total and complete bizzaroness that was the fact that the two previously bitter mortal enemies had somehow found their way to liking each other. To being friends.

Real friends.

Which was another thing Buffy herself didn't spend a lot of time dwelling on if she could help it, and that was still a source of major contention between her and the rest of the gang. Giles in particular seemed to struggle to wrap his head around it even now, months later.

Not that Spike seemed to be any more comfortable with it than she was, because she got the feeling it wigged him nearly just as much if not more so.

Something he was quick to point out again now, shaking his head, scoffing as he told her purposefully, "Correction, I _tolerate_ you all the time. It's Dawn I like."`

Which was true, he did like Dawn. And Dawn was practically in love with Spike. Something that probably had a lot to do with that fact that he'd pretty much single handedly saved her life last May. And the fact that she thought the bleached vampire was "totally gorgeous". And also the fact that out of all of Buffy's friends, Spike gave her little sister the most attention and the most patience of anyone. He was rivaled really only by Tara, which...was saying something.

"Ah, come on," Buffy argued knowingly, reaching up to tuck a strand of wind whipped hair back behind her ear as they reached the edge of her lawn. Turned and started up the path side by side to the front porch. Slowing as they reached the steps, she swung a teasing look his way and said, "You like me a little."

And when his eyes met hers again she froze. Because there was something there, something in them that she didn't think she'd ever seen before. And they were steady on her, scanning her face, his expression completely devoid of any smirk or sneer or even an arched brow as he searched her eyes.

But then the flash of _something_ was gone, and Spike suddenly smirked. Clucked his tongue at her and reached out, gripping the handle on the front door and pushing it open for her to step through.

"Sorry Slayer," he said, not sounding very sorry at all. "Can't bring myself to admit to something so perverse." He shot her another mischievous, sidelong glance as she slid past him. "Not out loud, anyway."

That had Buffy snorting, the something she'd thought she'd seen all but forgotten as a quick, short laugh burst through her nose. She looked over her shoulder and mused, "I thought vamps were all about perversion."

"You'd think that, but no," the bleached vampire murmured, letting the heavy wooden door fall shut behind him as he stepped into the foyer. "Take me for instance. I'm as bloody wholesome as they come."

Buffy narrowed her eyes on him and the two blondes exchanged a look, equal parts familiar annoyance and easy camaraderie on her end and smug playfulness on his.

"I'm only coming in on the tail end of this conversation but even I know that's not true," Dawn said, her voice floating down to them from the top of the stairs, drawing both of their attentions upward.

"Oi," Spike growled, his eyes narrowed on the younger Summers. "Whose side are you on?"

"I'm paying for the pizza," Buffy reminded her sister in a rush, moving to snatch the cordless phone up off the credenza beside the staircase and beginning to dial the all-too familiar number.

Without missing a beat, Dawn started down the stairs and said, "Buffy's."

"Yeah, well," the vampire muttered, pointing a hard finger in the older girl's direction for emphasis, "big sister might be able to provide you with nibbles but I'm the one sloggin' through that sodding English paper with you."

Dawn reached the landing and shrugged. "So I'll be on your side when I'm not starving anymore and can think straight."

Spike frowned down at her, folding his arms tightly over his chest.

"Bloody right you will," he agreed on a low growl.

Beside them, Buffy thanked the person on the other end of the line and hung up, set the phone back down and turned toward Dawn. "Alright. You, pizza's on its way." Then to Spike. "And you, there's fresh blood in the fridge."

"Pig?" he asked, shrugging out his duster and folding it once, laying it across the stairway's bannister.

Buffy eyed it distastefully, wondering to herself how many times she'd asked him to hang the stupid coat on the stupid coat rack if he insisted on taking it off. She'd lost count.

"No," she drawled, voice sarcastic, turning her eyes back up to his. "We thought we'd spring for human this time."

Spike just raised his brows and shrugged, saying, "Never hurts to ask."

And with that, the vampire turned and disappeared through the entryway into the dining room and on into the kitchen.

Laughing to herself, rolling her eyes, she turned her attention back to her little sister. "How's your homework situation?"

"Handled," Dawn said confidently, turning and heading into the living room.

Buffy followed.

"Okay," she murmured, gesturing absently with her hands as she watched the younger girl get settled onto the sofa. "Is that handled like…finished handled? Or handled like you plan on scrambling through it during homeroom tomorrow morning because you'd rather watch Dawson's Creek, handled?"

"Does it really matter?" Dawn asked, already reaching for the remote control, smiling brightly at her sister.

Buffy smiled back just as brightly and raised her eyebrows. "It does to the people at Social Services."

"I'll finish it now," she sighed, dropping the remote back onto the coffee table and pushing herself lazily up to her feet.

"Thank you," Buffy said, reaching out and running her hand down a lock of Dawn's hair as she moved around her.

"Yeah, yeah," her sister grumbled, shuffling her feet as she headed back toward the staircase.

"Dawn," Buffy called after her. Waited for the younger girl to turn and glance back at her before saying, "You can finish it during the commercials."

"You're the best," Dawn said brightly, now bolting for the stairs, using her unfairly long legs to take them two at a time, causing the walls to shake and pictures to rattle in their frames.

"Really should find a better outlet for all that boundless enthusiasm," Spike murmured as he came back around the corner and into the foyer, fresh mug of steaming hot blood in hand. "You know, get her to use her powers for good and all that rot."

Buffy shot him a deadpan look. "It's so not that bad."

Right on cue, there was a loud crash from overhead, a pounding of footsteps, and a manic fifteen year old came scrambling back down the stairs, arms now laden with books and papers as she whirled into the living room.

Spike raised his mug and took a slow sip, eyeing Buffy knowingly over the rim.

A beat passed.

"Maybe cheerleading?" she mused, shrugging once.

The vampire chuckled, running his tongue along his upper lip as he swallowed. Offered her a wry smile.

She smiled back.

And a second later the TV kicked on in the other room, the strains of the melancholy opening theme floating out into the foyer to greet them.

"So, uh, there's money by the door," Buffy said, pointing toward the wad of cash she'd placed on the small shelf below the coat rack before reaching back and shoving her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. Tilting her head to the side. "If you think you can hold off on threatening the delivery boy this time, I'm probably gonna go shower."

"Didn't hear you complainin' when we got the last one for free," Spike reminded her, pushing his shoulder off the wall and standing up straight again. Taking another long sip of his blood.

Buffy widened her eyes. "I'm serious."

"And I'm not?" The vampire scoffed, stepping further into the foyer. "Saved you hundreds of dollars by now, I'd wager."

"We won't be able to find a pizza place that'll deliver here if you keep scaring them all off," she told him plaintively, raising her eyebrows as she moved to put one foot flat on the steps.

"Oh, calm down will you, I'm only jokin'. Sort of. Now go." He shooed her with a wave of his hand, making a face for emphasis. "You smell terrible."

But he had that twinkling look in his eyes again.

Putting her hand on the bannister, starting up the stairs, Buffy rolled her own eyes up to the ceiling and muttered, "Says the dead guy."

And she found herself smiling when she heard him laugh, _really_ laugh, from behind her.

* * *

An hour or so later, Buffy was showered, Dawn was fed and working on her paper, Spike was helping, and the three of them were only halfway paying attention to the 10:00pm newscast that had just started up. A fluff piece on Sunnydale's top five most "picturesque" cemeteries.

"Bloody hell," Spike muttered, shifting forward on the sofa as though to get closer to the screen. "It's like you humans have no self-preservation instincts at all."

"It's the Hellmouth," Buffy agreed offhandedly, shifting forward herself. "Something in the water, kills off those pesky self-preservation brain cells."

Dawn glanced up from her spot sitting cross legged on the floor in front of the coffee table to add, "That's why we only have bottled."

Buffy quipped, "A good filter works, too."

Beside her, Spike made a big show of rolling his eyes to the ceiling and exhaling through his nose.

"Nobody thinks you two are as funny as you two think you are," he said pointedly, his eyes narrowed on the younger Summers sister. Then he turned his attention to Buffy, indicating with a tip of his head back in the direction of the TV to ask, "Guess this means we'll be workin' a little over time for the next little bit, yeah?"

Her smile fell.

Buffy'd been planning on picking up a few extra shifts at work this week so she'd have more free time coming up. With both her and Dawn's school Spring Breaks only a couple weeks away, she'd been anticipating asking for a few days off so she could spend that extra time with the younger girl. She'd already promised to take Dawn shopping, maybe out for a day at the beach if the weather was nice enough.

God, she was gonna be so disappointed.

"Yeah," Buffy agreed after a minute, turning her attention back to the news report and wrapping her arms more tightly over the pillow in her lap. Nibbling her lip. "Yeah, that'd probably be smart."

Reaching for the half empty pizza box on the coffee table, Dawn got to her feet, saying, "I'll put this in the fridge for tomorrow."

Buffy slumped back into the cushions on the sofa, watching her little sister disappear around the corner. Thinking about just how many times they'd had pizza, then leftover pizza, for dinner in the house over the past year. How long had it been since the stove had been used? Since the oven had even been turned on? Willow and Tara had offered to make both Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners that year, so…Christmas. December. Almost three months ago.

Geez, had it really been that long?

Frowning deeply, Buffy let her head loll to the side and met Spike's waiting gaze. She'd known he was staring at her already. She'd gotten really good lately at pin pointing that particular prickle on the back of her neck that told her he was staring at her. But even so, the intensity of his eyes when she looked at him now managed to catch her a little off guard.

Buffy swallowed once.

Then, ignoring the twisting feeling that had started in the pit of her stomach, she cleared her throat and asked, "Should I learn to cook? Something other than cereal, I mean."

The vampire looked surprised by the question, or maybe by the fact that she was asking him for a genuine opinion, but it only lasted for a moment before his expression went passive again.

He shrugged.

"I dunno, not sure now's the best time to piling more onto that plate of yours. Bit full already, innit? Besides," he added, picking up his half-forgotten mug off the coffee table and holding it out for emphasis, "it took you a whole two months to learn how to properly heat up blood in the sodding microwave."

"Speaking of," Buffy complained, swatting at Spike's outstretched arm with her hand and shoving it away from her. "Can you at least drink that somewhere that isn't right next to my nose?"

Shaking his head, looking smug, the vampire raised the mug to his lips. "And miss an opportunity to put that look on your face?" He paused, curled his tongue up behind his front teeth. "Not a chance."

"I could always just stop buying it for you, you know," she threatened. Spike smirked. "Or…I could tell Giles to stop buying it for you." At his single arched eyebrow, she grumbled, "Shut up."

"Didn't say anythin'," he said, the beginnings of a low, rumbling chuckle in his voice.

She shot him a look. "Didn't have to."

"Oh, so you can read my mind now?" Spike challenged, eyes wide, long lashes fluttering against pale cheeks.

"It's not like your thoughts are all that complicated," Buffy fired back, fighting the urge to stick her tongue out at him like the stubborn child she so often felt like when she was around the bleached vamp.

He swallowed the sip of blood he'd just taken and clicked his tongue reproachfully, sinking more fully into the cushions and resting his arm along the back of the couch. Tipping his head to the side, he said, "You know, I'd be offended by that if it weren't so true."

Buffy leaned back into the couch as well, tilting her own head to the side so she was mirroring him. Studied his eyes for a minute and wondered if she really could maybe read his mind.

Somehow, she doubted it.

"You take all the fun out of insulting you when you agree with me," she complained.

Spike leaned a little closer. "Why do you think I do it?"

And it was only then that Buffy noticed how close she and the vampire actually were to each other. How they'd each subtly shifted as they'd quipped back and forth until now their knees were nearly touching, their faces maybe a whopping total of six inches away. And she found herself a little frozen, a little stuck, sitting that close to Spike on her living room couch. Alone.

It wasn't the first time it had happened. Hell, it wasn't even the first time that week. But every time it had happened, things had gotten tense like this. Quiet. Like there was something one or the other of them wanted to say, or should say, or maybe should _do_...she was never quite sure.

His eyes had always been that perfect, cornflower blue. She knew that. Had only really started to notice it over the past couple weeks, though.

She was definitely noticing now.

For a split second, maybe less, her eyes fell to the curve of his lips. Traced them once. First the top, then the full swell of the bottom, like she was only noticing he had them at all for the very first time. He really had kind of nice lips.

Realizing what she was doing, she darted her gaze back up to his.

Spike's brow was furrowed now. Blinking at her once, he asked, "Somethin' wrong?"

"What?" Buffy asked back, blinking in turn. Then shook her head to clear it, adding quickly, "I mean, no. No." She frowned. "I think I'm just tired."

The vampire seemed to consider that for a moment, the expression on his face hard to read as he did. Eyes narrowed slightly, the muscle in his jaw ticking once. Then his gaze suddenly drifted away from hers, attention shooting over her shoulder. His expression relaxed again.

"You're not the only one," he murmured, using a quick jut of his chin to indicate in the direction of the entry way.

And it was then that she heard Dawn sigh, announcing her presence as she shuffled back through the entryway and toward the living room. Buffy immediately shifted backward and tore her eyes away from Spike's, turning her head in time to see the younger girl reach a hand up to stifle a yawn as she stopped in the open doorway.

"Sleepy?" she asked casually, as casually as she could manage, pushing any and every inch of the wig worthy thoughts she'd just been having away as she did.

Tired. She was just really, really tired.

"Yeah, I was just gonna say goodnight and go to bed." Dawn yawned once more, not bothering to stifle it this time. "Thanks again for the paper help, Spike."

The vampire simply nodded once in response, offered Dawn the warm dimple-showing smile he seemed to only ever reserve for her.

"See you in the morning," Buffy said, smiling too, watching the younger girl turn and disappear up the stairs. Then she dropped back into the couch and let her head loll against its back, closing her eyes and exhaling a long breath through pursed lips. Opened her eyes again and muttered, "Parenting is hard."

"Think I've heard that before, yeah," Spike muttered back, the tone of his voice matching hers.

She nodded limply and closed her eyes again.

It was quiet for a few moments as vampire and Slayer just sat there, still close, still side by side on the couch. Buffy only realized she'd been resting her head against the vampire's arm and not the back cushions when he suddenly moved it, causing her to sit up straight again as he pulled it back to his side.

"I should bugger off, I think. Let you catch some shut eye," he said by way of explanation. Buffy watched him through bleary eyes he slid gracefully to his feet, watched him cast a quick, sideways glance her way. "You look exhausted."

He didn't wait for her to respond. Just picked his mug back off the table and turned on his heel, moving in a sloping gait across the living room and toward the kitchen.

"Wow," Buffy drawled, only just loud enough that she knew the vampire would still be able to hear her as she tossed the pillow aside and stood up. Took the opposite route to meet him just as he entered the foyer. "Just what every girl wants to hear."

Spike was already shaking his head at her as he crossed to the front door. "Oh, come off it Slayer. I just meant you've...no, sod it, meant it the way it sounded." He made a show of narrowing his gaze, letting the blue of his eyes scan over her face studiously. "Can see the bags under your eyes from here."

Buffy's own eyes widened, then narrowed to match the vampire's as she understood he was at least half kidding. There were always just kernels of truth in his words, hidden just below the surface. While they used to be nasty, half hidden barbs, as of late they tended to be geared a lot more toward him hinting at what he thought was best for her.

"You. Going." She snatched the heavy leather duster off the bannister and threw it at Spike, watching him laugh as he caught it against his chest. "Now."

"As I was," he agreed, unfolding the duster and shaking it out once. He slipped his arms in, first the left and then the right, ending with a quick flip of his collar before dropping his hands to his sides. "You think you'll want a hand on patrol tomorrow?"

It was a question he'd asked her before. A question he'd asked her what felt like hundreds of times over the last year. Specifically, the last six months. More frequently in the last three.

Every night for the last three.

It was a question he'd asked her so many times before she wasn't even sure why he felt the need to ask anymore. Her answer was always the same. By now he knew that as well as she did.

But he still asked. And she still made a show of thinking it over before she answered.

It was ritual more than anything at this point, a useful little charade they seemed to both feel the need to play. Maybe to make themselves feel better about having gotten so close. Maybe as a way to pretend that they _weren't_ quite as close as they actually were. Buffy didn't think either of them knew why they did it anymore, they just…did.

And keeping with the ritual, she folded her arms, leaned back against the bannister. Shrugged and said, "Probably wouldn't hurt. With that news story running tonight there's bound to be a few hapless Sunnydale-ites wandering where they shouldn't be."

"Wankers probably deserve to be eaten if they're thick enough to go cemetery hoppin' at night," Spike murmured, sighing in clear irritation. Then rolling his eyes when Buffy shot him a dirty look. "Right, like you're so shocked. Just because I've got a craving for violence that fightin' off demons seems to satisfy doesn't mean I give a bloody damn what happens to the blind idiots livin' in this hell hole."

It was her turn to roll her eyes. "You spend an awful lot of time out there protecting those 'blind idiots' for someone who doesn't care."

"Well, yeah," Spike conceded, shrugging his shoulders casually. "Fella has to have a hobby."

 _But a fella doesn't have to have one that's so productive._

"Whatever you say," Buffy murmured, eyes steady on the vampire's shoulders as he turned and opened the front door, stepping out onto the front porch and back into the chilly air. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"You will," he murmured, inhaling deeply as he took a moment to scan the front lawn in a slow sweep, one end to the other. Then he glanced back over his shoulder. "G'night, Slayer."

"Night," she echoed, only closing the front door and shutting off the porch lights when she could no longer see the beacon of white-blonde hair in the distance anymore.

* * *

Spike waited until he heard the tell-tale click of the front door closing, the thud of the deadbolt being thrown, before he stopped walking. Paused mid-stride on the sidewalk and turned back around, watched through slightly narrowed eyes as the front porch lights flickered off.

Then he started making his way back toward the house.

Slowly, at an easy pace, humming to himself and watching as the interior lights in the house went out one by one.

As usual, he reached the wide trunk of the largest tree in the front yard just as Buffy was switching off the lamp in her bedroom. Casting an eye up toward the slightly open window, he sighed. Leaned back against the tree and settled in for the night.

Whether or not the Slayer had the foggiest idea he was there, that he'd been there near every night for at least the last few weeks, he didn't know. Not for certain, anyway. He was fairly sure she would have mentioned it to him by now if she did know. Called him out, asked him just what the bloody hell he thought he was doing staking out her house all night. Then again, given the way they'd both taken to dancing around the obvious changes that had been happening between them lately, she may have just been sticking her head in the sand and leaving well enough alone.

Truthfully, Spike didn't much care either way. If the girl's high and mighty sense of self-righteousness was going to keep her from pestering him over his comings and goings, that was fine by him. And if it was going to keep him from having to explain himself, that was even better.

He wasn't sure he'd be able to explain himself, anyway.

He wasn't sure what he was doing. What he was doing patrolling every night. What he was doing helping the little bit with her homework. What he was doing all but living at the Slayer's sodding house. Mostly, he didn't know what he was doing now, standing outside of her bedroom window. It didn't make sense. Bloody hell, _nothing_ he'd been doing for the past year made any sense.

He barely even liked Buffy most of the time.

Not that he needed to like her to love her.

Spike paused at that thought and scoffed at himself, a short burst of air through his nostrils as he shook his head. Fishing a cigarette out of the crumpled package in his pocket and wedging it between his lips, he lit it. Took a long drag. Sighed.

They were…friends. Some kind of friends. That's what she thought, anyway, according to Dawn. And maybe that was all it was. Maybe he was confusing normal, friendly lust for love. It wasn't like she was hard on the eyes or anything. Even when he'd hated her he hadn't found her particularly difficult to look at. Granted, true, it was easier to see it now. To admit it now. How lovely she was, all golden hair and tanned skin and a pretty, pink mouth that he occasionally considered capturing with his own.

Which he had to wager was completely normal. After all, Harris had been friends with the bird for years and Spike knew for a fact that wanker still lusted after the Slayer.

And it wasn't like Spike himself had a whole lot to go on in the "friends" department, especially where women were concerned. Bloody hell, he'd never been "friends" with a woman in the entirety of his unlife. Either he was single and alone and just seducing them for a quick feed and fuck, or he was chasing down Dru and avoiding the fairer sex all together. How was he supposed to know what was considered normal and what wasn't in being friends with Buffy?

 _Yeah_ , he thought now, shaking his head. Pulling the cigarette out of his mouth and eyeing the glowing embers on the tip through narrowed eyes until they went out. _Just keep tellin' yourself that, mate._

He flicked the used cigarette to the ground, pulled out another one. Lit it. Took another glance up toward the cracked bedroom window. From where he stood, he could hear her breathing. Quiet, soft, a steady in and out rhythm that told him she was asleep.

Who was he kidding? He was in so fucking deep.

 _Six bloody feet deep._

When he'd developed such a soft spot for the stubborn bint, he couldn't even say. It had been sometime before Joyce died, he knew that, though just how much before was a mystery. And it had happened slowly. A transition from out and out lust-ridden hatred into a grudging respect, then grudging respect grew toward grudging tolerance. That tolerance morphed into genuinely enjoying her company, even if it was only because he enjoyed pushing her buttons. And even that somehow further changed into a genuine desire to be around her. Picking up on her many quirks, learning to understand and even appreciate her sense of humor. Then learning how to play along.

The whole thing happened so bloody slowly he hardly noticed it happening at all. By the time he realized he had feelings for the Slayer other than the bitter loathing he'd grown so accustomed to, the two had already been patrolling together on a semi-regular basis for a couple months at least.

Her attitude toward him changed in about the same way. Just as gradually, though if it had taken the exact same progression his had he very much doubted it. He'd never specifically asked her about it, just as she'd never specifically asked him. In fact, neither of them ever mentioned it. Ever. Apart from the comment she'd made tonight about him secretly liking her, which had thrown him for a right loop as it was, she'd never once mentioned it outright. And it'd taken more effort than he really wanted to admit on his part not to stop and confess everything to her right then and bloody there.

But he wouldn't do that. Couldn't. If only because he didn't even know what it was he would have been confessing to.

It had only been recently that Spike had begun considering the idea that he'd perhaps always had some kind of feelings for her. That on some level he'd always known and was just never able to come to grips with it. And if he was being honest about it, he preferred that idea.

Something about the notion he'd always been a little bit sweet on the Slayer made it just a bit more bearable that he'd never been able to do her in.

Spike was grateful for that now, of course. He couldn't rightly imagine a world without Buffy Summers in it. Or, he supposed he could, he just didn't fancy spending a lot of time doing it. Not now. Not anymore. Christ, even when he'd wanted nothing more than to see her lying dead at his feet he'd somehow always known that even if his unlife would've been easier with her out of the picture, God knew it would've been a hell of a lot less interesting.

He smirked to himself as he thought back to the first time he'd fought her, taking another drag off the cigarette. Held the smoke in his useless lungs for a second longer than he needed to before exhaling through his nose. He'd killed Slayers before facing her. Thought he knew what he was signing up for when he'd agreed to take her out. Thought his experience with the previous two would be enough.

But Buffy…Buffy was different. She was stronger than any other Slayer he'd faced, probably mentally as well as physically. Quicker, more powerful. More resourceful. An underlying push to win, to always be the last one standing, that none of the others seemed to have. Not by the time he'd gotten to them, anyway.

Buffy was different. Had always been different. It was what he both hated and adored about her. She was strong, and she was beautiful and she was stubborn. Brave. Obnoxiously self-righteous. And against every dead cell in his body, against every natural impulse and instinct he had, he loved her.

How was _that_ for perversion?


	2. Chapter 2

"Stop lookin' at me like that," Spike grumbled, shoving his hand and the stake he was holding deep down into his duster's pocket.

From her position seated on the cold ground, Buffy balked. Blinked up at him a few times.

She hadn't noticed she'd been staring.

Sure, she'd noticed she'd been _watching_ him. Studying his movements, the weird combination of sprawling street fighter and dancer-like grace. Of course, she'd only started staring at him _after_ she'd put her own fledgling down.

But not before the smug little cretin had knocked her on her ass.

In front of her, Spike cleared his throat expectantly.

Buffy dropped her eyes away from his, busied herself by dusting off her hands and said, "I'm not looking at you like anything."

"You are," the vampire countered, crossing the several feet between them and extending his hand down to her. "Just not sure why."

If she was honest, she wasn't real sure why either.

She'd been looking at him more often than usual lately. Longer. More constantly. Where she used to only notice his larger quirks, the way he spoke or the phrasing he used when he was irritated, or happy or confused, it was more the little things that caught her attention now. A subtle flash in the blue of his eyes when he got excited, the twist of his lips that got wider when he thought he was being clever…even wider still when he was covering for an emotion he didn't want to admit to.

His eyes were puzzled when she looked back up at him now, gleaming through the darkness, brows drawn together.

Buffy looked up at him through her lashes, eyes darting from the expression on his face down to the smooth palm of his outstretched hand and back again. Then she reached up and slid her hand into his, let him wrap his fingers around her wrist and pull her back up onto her feet.

The bone in her wrist tweaked painfully.

"Ow," she muttered, not bothering to pull her hand out of his as she did, staring down at it through narrowed eyes.

For his part, Spike didn't move to release her hand either. Just stared across at her, his brow creased. "What is it?"

His hand felt good wrapped around hers.

Like, really good.

Briefly, she got a flash of what the rest of his skin must be like. Smooth and cool, stretched tight over muscle and sinew and bone. A body that had seen more than a century, skin touched a thousand times over and that still managed to gleam silvery and flawless in the moonlight.

Oh, God.

Was she staring again?

"Nothing," Buffy said quickly, finally extricating herself from his grip, doing her best to ignore the ache in her wrist and the tell-tale flutter in her stomach as she did. She looked away from him, turning her attention to the blood and grass stains on her pants and hoping he hadn't noticed the flush in her cheeks.

 _Change the subject._

Brushing off the bizarre feeling, and the grass stuck to her jeans, she told him, "You know, you could've been a little nicer to her."

And that had the vampire laughing, the tension breaking.

Buffy looked up and breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

"Nice?" Spike scoffed, perking one dark brow at her. "Slayer, I'm not even nice to you, you think I'm gonna waste my energy bein' nice to some daft cow who doesn't know enough not to walk 'round cemeteries at night?"

Buffy didn't answer right away. Both because he was completely wrong but also because he was completely right. Wrong about the not being nice to her part.

Right about…pretty much everything else.

So she shrugged and conceded, "Good point."

"I thought so."

She sighed in his general direction and glanced around the now-empty cemetery, the freaky feeling from a moment ago all but gone now. Shivering slightly against the wind that had picked up, she watched what was left of the vamps they'd both dusted swirl around her feet. Then met his eyes again and said, "Still, if you're gonna keep fighting the forces of evil with me we're gonna have to do some sensitivity training or something."

The vampire raised an immediate and skeptical brow.

Looking at her through his lashes, he lowered his voice and said, "And if you _ever_ want my help again you'll end that train of thought right there."

Good. Banter.

Banter was good.

"Who says I want your help?" Buffy quipped, widening her eyes as she moved around him and started heading in the direction of the gate.

"You did," Spike reminded her flatly, unruffled.

She felt him come up beside her, slide into step with her, the rhythm of their footfalls syncopated within seconds. Practiced and easy, a custom and pace they both knew by heart. Now, just like so many times before, he tailored the length of his stride to match hers so he wouldn't be walking ahead of her.

She wondered if he knew she knew he did that.

Then she wondered if he even knew it himself.

"Let's not pretend I'm the only one that's getting something out of this arrangement," Buffy said, casting a sideways glance at the bleached blonde, waiting for his eyes to shift toward hers before raising her own brow. "You have to have some kind of productive, non-destructo outlet for all that pent up evil energy." Then, almost as an afterthought, she added, "Plus, you're kinda useful…what with the strength and speed and stuff."

That had Spike chuckling, the low, rumbling sound that Buffy had come to like just a little too much over the past couple months. He met her eyes again and grinned, a sideways little smile that showed off his dimples. "And here I thought it was my devilish charm you craved so much."

"That doesn't hurt either," she said without thinking, not catching herself in time.

Oh.

 _Crap._

And she saw it happen, too. Saw the expression on the vampire's face shift just as hers did, the realization steal across his features just as it did hers. Her eyes went wide as they searched his in the half second it took for her to understand what she'd said. Even wider in the half second longer it took for her to look away.

"Careful there, Slayer," he mused, voice low and smooth. "Gettin' dangerously close to a compliment."

 _Getting dangerously close to a lot of things._

"Yeah, well, don't get used to it," Buffy muttered, reaching up to run her fingers back through her hair. More for something to do than anything else, until the distinct, stinging ache in her right wrist pinched when she lowered her hand again.

She frowned, reached to cradle her right arm in her hand. Wincing when she tried to circle it once, pressing into the bone to stabilize it and still the ache, she winced again when she felt something shift and crack beneath the pads of her fingertips.

 _Double crap._

Buffy glanced down at the offending wrist, frowning more deeply.

"You sure you're alright?"

She glanced back up at the sound of his voice to find Spike staring at her intently, now several feet in front of her, his expression drawn.

She hadn't even noticed she'd stopped walking.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she said quickly, shaking her head like she needed to clear it. Glanced down at her wrist and then quickly back up.

The vampire looked less than convinced. "What happened?"

Buffy couldn't remember.

Or she could remember, she guessed, but only vaguely. She remembered being kicked at, her right arm going up instinctively to shield herself from the blow. Pain had been fleeting, though, and not something she'd spent a lot of time thinking about in the moment. She'd been paying more attention to Spike than her opponent at that point.

He'd been fighting two vamps at once, and she remembered thinking fleetingly that she was worried.

Pushing that thought aside, Buffy darted her gaze back down to her wrist once more. "The scrawny little one must've gotten at least one solid shot in, that's all." She shrugged and added off handedly, "I should probably work on being less quippy and more…kicky."

Spike was in front of her, reaching both strong, pale hands out toward her before she could blink.

She pulled away on instinct, looked up into his face and took a big step back.

Expression tight, his voice a weird mix of complete exasperation and concern, he stuck his hand out expectantly. Demanded, "Let me see it."

Which somehow translated in her abruptly gone-all-fuzzy brain to "let me touch you and make you feel all lusty again".

Buffy pulled further into herself. "No."

"Slayer," Spike warned, sounding like he was talking more to a whiny toddler and less to a fully grown warrior. "Stop bein' a stubborn twit for two seconds and just let me see if it's broken."

She stared at the vampire in front of her for a minute, her wrist throbbing and as swollen as her pride seemed to be all of a sudden. Why she was being so damned insistent that Spike not help her, she didn't know. Could think of no good or logical reason for it. Which meant it was something that wasn't probably super big with the rational.

Which in turn meant it probably wasn't something she wanted to delve into right now.

So instead of doing as he'd asked, she rolled her shoulders back and did the only thing her stubborn, swollen pride would allow her to do.

Lie.

"It's not broken," she insisted lamely, even though it probably was.

Spike, thoroughly and utterly unmoved by her protests, just blinked at her a few times. Inhaled deeply through his nose. Held his hand out again and said slowly, "Give it here."

Deciding that arguing any more at this point would look way more suspicious than just giving in, Buffy sighed.

"Fine," she grumbled, surrendering her injured arm to him. "But I'm telling you, its fi-ine."

Her voice cracked pitifully on that last word, and she winced bodily. Felt all of about three inches tall as the vampire pressed the delicate curve of her wrist lightly between his thumb and forefinger, the chill of his skin obvious even with the unseasonably cool weather surrounding them.

His touch sent the faintest of jolts rocketing up her arm. A spark she'd never felt, or never noticed, before.

She swallowed, her mouth feeling suddenly very dry.

After what seemed like a really long time to Buffy, an endlessly long moment as Spike stared down at her wrist, poked and prodded at the bone beneath her skin with a gentleness she would never have expected from him, he finally looked up at her through thick, long lashes.

"It's broken," he said matter-of-factly.

There was just the tiniest hint of a smirk playing on his mouth, full lips that looked very pale and very soft in the moonlight.

For a fleeting, flickering second, Buffy pictured herself leaning forward and capturing them with her own.

Then she jerked back, blinking rapidly.

Too many times in the last several months, she'd had this thought. Too many times in the last several months she'd caught herself wondering what his mouth would feel like. Kissing her lips, feathering across her skin. The morning after one particularly long patrol and one particularly interesting dream, she'd imagined his lips…several other choice places.

Which was all _so_ neither here nor there.

Shaking her head, Buffy suddenly snatched her arm away, her slightly wounded pride throbbing in time with the ache in her wrist and a brand new ache between her legs as she did. "Well it won't be broken by tomorrow."

Spike frowned at her like he didn't understand the sudden outburst.

She didn't really blame him.

"Slayer healing innit an excuse to ignore a broken bone," he said purposefully, dropping his gaze to her wrist again, indicating to it with a short jut of his chin. "We should put some ice on it when we get back to the house."

"Yeah, okay, whatever," Buffy agreed hastily, pretending her wrist didn't tweak when she folded her arms up over her chest. "Can we just go?"

It was maybe a little too abrupt, but she wasn't really in a position to care. Too many freaky, uncontrolled thoughts were weaving in and out of her brain. Too many impulses that were verging just on the edge of unrestrained.

Buffy didn't really want to start testing the limits now.

Yet.

Whatever.

She swallowed again and kept her arms folded tight, unmoving.

It fell quiet between the blonde pair as they stared at each other, Spike's eyes narrowed and skeptical and Buffy's as wide and blank as she could make them. He was doing that thing…that Spike thing, where it felt like he could see right through her, could read her very innermost thoughts if he just stared at her long enough.

Finally he seemed to give up, sighed and shook his head.

"Whatever you want, Slayer," the vampire murmured, still looking like he wasn't exactly sure what had happened between them as he turned his back and started walking toward the gate without another glance her way.

Buffy stayed back for just a minute longer, exhaling the breath she hadn't even realized she'd been holding. Biting down on the swell of her bottom lip and absently rubbing her wrist. Watching Spike walk away, she wondered when it was exactly that they had somehow become a "we", and tried to decide whether or not she liked the sound of it.

* * *

Spike knew something was going on with the Slayer.

In spite of what so many of her little friends thought, he was smart enough to pick up on her mood shifts, her body language. Smart enough to know that there had been another shift in their relationship, a crack sprung up in the already uneven ground they'd been walking for what seemed like ages.

At first, he'd assumed that she'd caught him out. That she'd somehow got it figured he was spending hours every night chain smoking just below her bedroom window and had her knickers twisted over that. But when a few days went by and she never mentioned it, nor bothered to stop him from doing it, he'd been forced to rethink things.

All he knew for certain now was that _something_ about their "relationship" had definitely and definitively changed the night she'd gotten her wrist mangled, and he still wasn't sure why or how, or what it all meant for him.

It had been well over a week since that night and she still hadn't addressed it. Not with him, anyway. And while he'd toyed with the idea of asking one of her little friends if she'd made mention of him recently, maybe Red or the demon girl at the magic shop, he did in fact know enough about Buffy to know if she found out he'd went to them behind her back she just might stake him for the fun of it.

They got along well enough, he and the Wicca birds, but sometimes he got the feeling from the Slayer that she didn't necessarily like that much. He'd always figured that cracking the odd off color joke was better than trying to rip their throats out, but what did he know.

Spike had just settled in for a nap, had just started to slip into the beginnings of what was shaping up to be a very pleasant dream, when the heavy wooden door to his crypt flew open, banging against the wall and jolting him awake. He sat bolt upright on his makeshift bed, gripping the corner of his blanket with one hand and the edge of the stone sarcophagus beneath him with the other. Eyes narrowed, scanning the murky afternoon light of the crypt in front of him, he already knew who he was going to find.

Even if he hadn't smelled her immediately, the clicking sound of her booted feet on the floor would have been a dead giveaway.

"Jesus, Buffy," he growled, his shoulders relaxing as he blinked tired eyes at her. Followed her movements. "Remind me, what exactly is it you've got against knocking?"

Buffy ignored the question, coming to a stop several feet in front of the coffin he'd set himself up on for the afternoon.

She frowned. "What are you doing?"

Spike frowned back at her.

"Well, I _was_ just tryin' to catch a little shut eye," he grumbled, reaching up to rake his fingers through his hair and pretending he wasn't happy to see her. "Now that's settled, can I ask just what _you're_ doin' barging in here in the middle of the bloody day?"

Buffy made a face at him. "Geez, you're cranky in the afternoon."

"And gettin' crankier by the second," he lied through his teeth, trying to hide how desperately he was loving the fact that she'd stopped by the crypt to see him in the middle of the day.

She never did that. Well, not unless she really needed something, anyway. But even then, normally anything she needed from him could wait until they saw each other in the evenings. Whatever it was that had brought her out to his crypt today, it wasn't something that could wait.

The notion made the tips of his fingers tingle.

Was something wrong?

"Is something wrong?"

Buffy looked startled by the question, both that it had come a little bit out of nowhere and also that he'd asked it so forcefully.

"What?" She asked, her own voice pitching higher than usual, her pretty brow furrowed. "No. Why? Do I have something wrong face?"

So nothing urgent then.

Well…now, that was interesting.

Letting his eyes scan her face, Spike leaned forward just slightly, tipped his head to the side and asked, "Why is it you came out here?"

The expression that stole over her features might have been funny if he'd been in the mood to laugh. As it was, he was now too painfully curious about her motives, and about how these actions today didn't seem to match any of her other actions over the past week, to find anything laugh out loud funny.

"Oh." She blinked a few times, then nodded. "Yeah. I came out here because I was just gonna see if..." The words trailed off, died on her lips as she dropped her eyes away from his face for the first time. He watched them go very wide. "Wait, are you _naked_?"

Spike exhaled through his nose, unsure whether to be flattered by the breathy catch in her voice or annoyed that she was avoiding his question.

"Relax, Slayer," he muttered, resisting the sudden urge to whip off the blanket he'd draped over his waist. Instead, he just leaned back onto his elbows and raised an amused eyebrow. "No need to have a bloody coronary, yeah? 'S just skin."

"Yeah," she said slowly, still looking a little rattled. "I know. There's just...a lot of…" She shut her eyes. "No, never mind." Opened them. Immediately shut them again and said on a half-laugh, "Yeah, no, _big_ never mind."

Spike preened, his tongue automatically curling behind his top teeth. "Oh, you have no idea."

Across from him, Buffy choked.

Coughed a short, flustered sound as her eyes flew open and she stared at him, frozen. Gaze wide, lips parted, like she wanted to say something but didn't know what. Her gaze dropped again to the sheet covering his lower half, and she swallowed loudly enough for him to hear the muscles working in her throat.

And she was blushing. _Blushing_. Christ, how many times had he seen Buffy blush?

He couldn't seem to think of another time off the top of his head, probably because he was a bit preoccupied with the thrum of her pulse. It had picked up slightly, the rhythm different than when she'd first barged in a few minutes ago. The cadence was a familiar one though, and he realized as he looked at her that it was the same odd beat he'd heard from her in the cemetery a week ago.

Then she glanced down at the stone floor, her rounded cheeks the prettiest shade of pink he'd ever seen, and murmured, "Could you just put some pants on or something?"

Well, if she was going to ask so nicely.

"Suit yourself." Spike threw the blanket off and swung his legs over the edge of the coffin, smirking to himself when he noticed how hard Buffy was working not to look at him. Reaching for the pair of black jeans he'd left on the floor and standing up to slip them on, he eyed the honey blonde in front of him, his smirk widening as he watched her shift from foot to foot and look practically everywhere except for at him. Then he sighed loudly, zipped the pants with a flourish and said, "It's safe to look now, pet. I'm decent."

And she did look back at him now, though he noticed she covered for the color in her cheeks with one of those patented Buffy eye rolls.

"I think _that_ might be going a little far," she told him, but her voice was more awkwardly teasing than venomous, and her skin was still hot.

Spike chuckled and nodded in agreement, putting his hands on his hips. "Was interruptin' my sleep schedule the only reason you stopped by, then?"

"Yeah," Buffy said quickly. Then realized what she'd said and shook her head, blurted out, "I mean, no. I just…" she let the sentence trail off, the words hang awkwardly in the air between them. Then she cleared her throat, gesturing absently. "I just wanted to make sure you were still coming to the party tonight."

Of the small list of things he might have expected her to say, that wasn't one of them.

Not at all urgent, surely something that could have waited.

Had she really come all the way out to Restfield in the middle of the afternoon to ask him that?

Spike eyed the woman across from him carefully, smoothed his expression, arched a scarred brow. He watched as she seemed to grow restless, the silence stretching on between them. She shuffled her feet, fiddled with the tiny gold ring on her index finger, pressed her glossy lips into a thin line and rubbed them together.

 _Bloody hell._

She was nervous.

Spike could count on three fingers how many times he'd seen the Slayer _nervous_.

"The party tonight?" he echoed slowly, feeling the corner of his mouth twitch upward.

Buffy blinked at him. "My birthday party?"

Oh, he knew exactly what she was talking about. Hadn't needed to ask. He'd been thinking about it for weeks, more specifically what kind of present he was expected to give her, ever since she'd mentioned it the first time.

Since she'd _invited_ him the first time.

He'd been surprised then. First, that she'd come out and told him so openly about the fact that she wanted to celebrate her birthday a little differently this year, and secondly that she wanted him to be there. The year before, he'd stood outside. Outside the window as much as he was outside her world, and watched her family and friends celebrate. The fact that she'd seen fit to include him this year had made him painfully and embarrassingly happy.

Not that he'd told her that. No, he'd shrugged it off, made some snide, noncommittal comment about being damned all over again if he was going to be made to sing _Happy Birthday_ and then quickly changed the subject.

He'd been planning on going tonight, of course, whether she'd come by to remind him to or not.

But the fact that she _had_ come by to remind him…

Well, that was just the cherry on top of the bleeding sundae, wasn't it?

"Oh, right. Yeah," he breezed, nodded. Feigned nonchalance as he reached a hand up to smooth back his hair. "That's tonight then?"

"At 8:00," she said.

Spike nodded slowly but didn't move to respond anything right away. He was busy watching her, or watching her watching him, to be more specific. She was studying him very carefully, like she was trying to read his mind, or maybe just separate the truth between his words and the actions behind them. She was still a little nervous, maybe. Or unsure. Whether of her own actions or of his answer, he wasn't certain.

Something had changed.

He stood very still and inhaled through his nose, exhaled again. Tilted his head to the side and asked, voice low and what he knew was uncharacteristically soft, "You really want me to come?"

Buffy softened too, her expression and her body language both relaxing toward him. Nodding and smiling at the vampire in a way that felt different but very much the same to him all at once. "I really do."

Something between them had definitely changed.

"Then I'll be there," Spike promised.

He just needed to figure out exactly what that meant.


	3. Chapter 3

Buffy's cheeks were still pink.

They'd been various shades of the rosy hue for hours now, ever since she'd left Spike standing all shirtless and statue-like in the middle of his crypt. Not just pink, but flushed. Blotchy. A permanent blush that stained her skin and made her feel hot all over, warm and fluttery and nervous. In a good way.

The best way.

And how was that for the twistiest of storylines, the ending that nobody saw coming? Spike made her butterfly-level nervous.

God, since _when_?

Buffy considered her reflection in the vanity mirror, wondering to herself if the vampire had even realized how ruffled he'd gotten her feathers earlier. Granted, sure, she probably should've figured he'd be sleeping in the middle of the afternoon, but it wasn't _her_ fault he slept naked. What was her fault was that she couldn't seem to stop picturing it.

She felt her cheeks grow hot again, which really didn't mean much considering they were still bright pink. Still. An hour before the party and they seemed determined to stay that way no matter how many times she dusted her face with powder.

If she didn't just give up and stop trying she was going to be celebrating her birthday looking like one of those wiggy porcelain dolls.

 _Then again…_

Buffy wrinkled her nose at her reflection and set her makeup and brush down with a huff, slamming it into her dressing table with just enough force to make the entire antique creak and groan, but not to crack and fall apart.

When she'd suddenly gone all tongue tied and stomach twisty around Spike, she wasn't totally sure. Couldn't pinpoint the exact moment or look back on the day and know yep, that was it. That time he helped ice her twisted ankle, or told Dawn some stupid joke that had her laughing for hours, or threatened the pizza delivery boy in order to save her money... _that_ time was the exact moment that her feelings for him had changed. It might have been the night a week ago in the cemetery when he'd held her broken wrist and worried over her.

It might have been the week before that. The month before. _Six_ months before.

Buffy didn't know, and the more she tried to figure it out the more frustrated she became.

Over the course of the last week, she'd wrestled with it. The _when_ of it. Wondered if it meant something in the grand scheme, big picture version of things that she couldn't remember the moment. She remembered the moment with Angel. With Riley. Hell, she even sort of remembered a moment...of sorts...with Pike. And then she'd come to the agonizingly slow, week-long conclusion that she might have remembered the when for each of her past relationships, but none of them had lasted. None of them had worked.

And that was when she'd decided that maybe the "moment" with Spike was harder to pick out because there were so many of them. Maybe the _when_ didn't matter with Spike because the important thing wasn't when, but why. She knew why she had feelings for him. So, she'd reasoned, the important thing now was that she had feelings for him and that she'd _realized_ it in the end. Which she had.

She just hadn't figured out what it meant, or what to do next.

Thus, with the storming into his crypt in the middle of the day to make sure he was coming tonight and accidentally seeing him naked, and the hour and a half she'd spent picking and re-picking out her outfit, and the lots and lots of large-winged butterflies were fluttering around her insides.

And her cheeks were _still_ pink.

It probably didn't help that she kept imagining naked Spike every twenty-fifth second or so.

The doorbell rang.

Buffy's eyes shot over to the alarm clock on her bedside table, glowing red numbers reading exactly 7:30. Her shoulders relaxed.

Willow and Tara.

A moment later the heavy front door was creaking open and the sound of voices filled the entryway, mingling together and floating up the stairwell and into her open bedroom.

"Buffy," Dawn called up the stairs, her voice cracking a little with the pitch and effort. "Willow and Tara are here."

"I'll be right down," Buffy called back, picking up one of her shinier, pinker glosses and swiping the wand over her lips in a rush. Smacked them together to blend. Flashed a bright smile into the mirror, then inhaled deeply. Muttered, "Here goes nothin'."

Sighing once more into her reflection, she decided she could pass the rosy pink flush off as just a little too much blush. Then she stood up, smoothed her skirt down over her thighs, tucked an errant curl back behind her ear and headed downstairs.

* * *

"You're an idiot."

Spike fingered the neck of his beer and shot Dawn a wry, sidelong glance. "Not accordin' to the last three papers you've brought home."

The younger girl rolled her eyes.

"No, not _school_ stuff. Just...you. Generally speaking." She dropped down onto the sofa beside him and crossed her arms. "You're a complete and total idiot."

Spike was fairly certain he didn't have the foggiest idea what the girl was talking about, but that didn't stop his curiosity from piquing.

"Right then," he chuckled, raising the amber colored bottle up to his lips. "What is it you're on about?"

"The fact that you're in love with my sister and won't tell her," Dawn said simply.

Spike choked and lowered the beer bottle. Choked again. Then cleared his throat, opened his mouth to say something.

Dawn beat him to it.

"Don't even _try_ and deny it, Spike," she warned, the expression on her face somehow both stern and smug, and far too grown up for a girl her age. "It's so obvious."

Spike had no idea what to say to that.

Normally, he would've laughed. Brushed her off with a quick comment, a snide remark, a dry quirk of his lips and that would be that. End of conversation, end of story.

As it was, the little minx had caught him off guard.

In the end, all he managed was a short, stifled laugh that sounded too awkward to be dismissive and an out and out lie. "I'm not in love with your sister."

"Yeah," Dawn said, her voice sure, just a little bit condescending over the sound of the stereo as she smiled knowingly over at him. "You are."

The vampire stared at her, blinking. Gripping the neck of his bottle so tightly he thought it might shatter. Wondering how in the name of everything evil and unholy this slip of girl had managed to see straight through him. How both she and her sister had gotten so far under his skin.

"Am not," he argued, leaning back further into the cushions, propping one booted foot up on the coffee table. He took another rough swig of beer while he thought of something else to say, then lowered the bottle and grumbled, "Bloody hell, I barely even _like_ your sister."

Dawn gave him a deadpan expression. Raised a single, skeptical brow.

Spike growled.

"Right, fine." He sat up and leaned forward her as the words came out in a low rush. "I like the chit. Alright? But we're just _friends_ , Dawn." He set his beer down on the coffee table and looked at her again. "That's all."

The younger Summers answered him with two sky-high brows this time.

Spike rolled his eyes. " _What_?"

"You actually think anybody buys that? Please," she laughed, then sat up straighter, began ticking off arguments on her fingers as she listed them. "You're always helping us with stuff, you're always looking for ways to make things easier on Buffy, you're here _all_ the time. You guys spend like ninety percent of your free time together. _And_ it's not like you've been seeing anyone." She tightened her arms across her chest and aimed her final argument. "You haven't had a girlfriend since Harmony left."

The vampire jumped on that, latching on to the only argument Dawn had made that he could readily refute.

"And that's supposed to prove somethin', is it?" Spike challenged, flashing his own smug smile and chuckling to himself. "I've been _busy_ , bit. Lots of things to do that don't require female companionship. Besides, Buffy hasn't had a boyfriend since Captain Cardboard skipped town." He picked his beer back up and raised it to his lips, speaking around the rim. "Does that mean she's in love with me?"

"What if it does?"

"I..." He began, then trailed off, brow furrowed. Studied the expression on her face. Lowering his voice another half octave, he asked, "Do you know something?"

She opened her mouth to respond but didn't get a chance to answer him.

"Dawnie?" Buffy called, her voice reaching them a half second before she appeared in the frame of the living room's doorway. She paused there, her eyes drifting toward the vampire just briefly before shooting back to focus on her sister. "Hey, will you come help with the punch?"

The younger girl perked up. "Is it alcoholic punch?"

The older girl raised an eyebrow. "Not for you it isn't."

"Lame," Dawn sighed, casting Spike one more wry glance before hopping up to her feet.

"Tell me about it," Buffy said, nudging her sister's shoulder lightly with hers as she slid past. Then she turned her smiling eyes on Spike. "Hey."

"Hey," he said back, getting to his feet and taking a few steps toward her.

It was quiet for just a moment, except for the rustling and tinkling of glasses and laughing voices filtering out through the kitchen and the inane, thrumming drivel on the stereo that somehow passed for music in the 21st century.

And she looked beautiful.

It was the one nagging, persistent thought he kept coming back to as he stared at her, shuffled his feet. Wondered what to say. Things had never been this awkward between them, had it?

Bloody hell, even when he'd been trying to off the girl they'd always found _something_ to talk about.

"I...didn't see you come in," Buffy said finally, gesturing toward him with one hand, tucking the other into her back pocket.

"Uh, yeah," he agreed, reaching his free hand around to rub the back of his neck. "You weren't meant to." Then he shrugged. "Didn't wanna have to help."

She laughed. Not a loud belly laugh, but a genuine one which worked as well as anything else to break the tension, even if it didn't pull the high color out of her cheeks.

"Right," Buffy agreed, nodding, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "Well you're off the hook, we're pretty much finished with the set up. Everyone else should be here soon."

"Goodie," Spike muttered wryly, snickering low in the back of his throat when she smacked him hard on the arm. "What, did that not sound sincere?"

She rolled her eyes at him, folding her arms in front of her chest and revealing a good deal of tantalizing golden skin over her collarbone, down her blouse. "You know you didn't _have_ to come."

"I know." He fought to keep his eyes on her face where they belonged, which was more difficult than it should have been.

Something he wagered Buffy must have known, because she just smiled sardonically up at him and shook her head, then looked away.

"I'm glad you came," she told him quietly, her eyes on the ground.

And when he answered her, his voice was just as quiet. "Wouldn't have missed it."

* * *

"I think you're letting me win," Buffy said, giving her sister a look as she reached forward and gathered the cards off the table.

Ignoring the accusation, Dawn said, "Spike looks nice tonight."

Buffy raised an eyebrow. Alright, with the out of nowhere.

"Believe me when I say he's too old for you," she murmured, beginning to shuffle the cards in her hands using the deck cutting technique that Joyce had taught them.

The younger girl rolled her eyes to the ceiling. "I'm just _saying_ , he looks especially…nice tonight. Don't you think so?"

It was the most loaded of loaded questions, and it didn't take a genius to figure out why Dawn was asking it. She'd seen the flush splashed across her older sister's face when she'd gotten home from the vampire's crypt. Had seen the quiet, awkward tension between the two blondes in the living room. Had probably seen all this coming months before either Spike or Buffy could have even admitted it was a possibility.

She was annoyingly perceptive that way.

"Uh, yeah," Buffy agreed now, not seeing any real point in denying what was so obvious. "Sure."

The younger girl was staring across the room, watching the vampire interact casually with Tara and Willow. Buffy followed her gaze. Something the redheaded witch said made him smirk and say something back in low tones that she couldn't quite hear, but whatever it was must have been funny. Both witches burst into giggles, and from the other corner of the room, Giles rolled his eyes good naturedly.

She smiled to herself.

"I think he did something different with his hair," Dawn said suddenly, drawing her sister's attention back to her.

"You noticed that?" she asked, surprised.

"Like you didn't?" Dawn fired back.

Embarrassed, Buffy took a long drink of her birthday punch and turned her attention back to the cards in her hands.

Then surreptitiously back in Spike's direction, looking at him through her lashes.

She had noticed. In fact, it had been one of the very first things she'd noticed when she'd walked into the living room looking for Dawn. One, that Spike was there, sitting beside her little sister on the couch. And two, that he was looking uncharacteristically sheepish.

And pretty.

Not uncharacteristically pretty, because…Spike. The bleached vampire sort of always looked just this side of too pretty in Buffy's opinion. It used to drive her insane, especially when he was firmly in the evil arch nemesis camp. Bothered her less the more comfortable they'd gotten with one another. Had started to bother her again as they'd gotten increasingly closer as friends.

But he looked even nicer than usual tonight. She hadn't really been sure why.

Or maybe she'd been worried it was a result of the almost seeing him naked thing.

But now that her little sister had pointed it out she realized it was his hair. He'd left it tousled, looking like he'd just been running his fingers through it. It still obviously had hair product in it, but one of the signature platinum curls was falling loosely over the top of his forehead instead of being plastered back like usual.

From across the room, he seemed to feel her eyes on him because he stopped mid-sentence and turned away from Tara, catching and holding Buffy's gaze as though on instinct. He tipped his head slightly to the side, azure eyes curious and full lips quirking up in the hint of a smirk.

Her cheeks went hot and she looked away.

"Aren't you a little young to be having such freaky insights into my love life?" she muttered under her breath, focusing on her hands as she continued to shuffle the deck.

Across from her, Dawn shrugged. "I watch enough Dawson's to recognize unrequited love when I see it."

"I knew I let you watch too much TV."

"You do, but that's not the point."

"No," she agreed, shaking her head and dropping her voice down low. A dry, knowing smile on her lips. "The point is you think I'm in love with Spike."

"What do _you_ think?" Dawn pressed.

Buffy thought about the question for a minute. Drummed baby pink fingernails against the wooden tabletop and listened to the sounds around her. The voices of her friends, her family, rising and falling from different corners of the room as they told stories and bad jokes and made cringe-worthy comments. Got scolded for said comments.

She listened to the voices, the music from the stereo, the tinkling of glasses and plates, and she realized she kept picking out one voice above all the others.

Then she shoved the freshly shuffled deck of cards back across the table and tapped them once with her knuckle. "I think it's your turn to deal."

* * *

"Gotta hand it to you, pet," Spike purred from his position in the kitchen doorway, shoulder braced casually against the wooden frame when she turned to look at him, his signature smirk firmly in place. "You do know how to throw the world's most boring party."

Buffy froze for a minute as she looked at him, surprised.

Pleasantly surprised.

Honestly, she'd thought she'd seen him leave over an hour ago, hadn't been expecting to see him again until the next night, so she wasn't entirely prepared for the rush of heat and the tingling in her fingertips that seeing him now brought with it.

She shook her head at him and stuck her tingling fingers back into the sink full of warm, soapy water and finished rinsing the plate she'd been scrubbing. Forcing a glibness she didn't feel into her voice, she said, "Hey, boring is good. Boring means nobody turned evil or ran away or got kidnapped." A beat as she turned fully around to face him. "Or eaten." Another beat as Spike arched a brow. "What, there's a first time for everything."

"S'pose that's true enough," the vampire conceded, pulling his shoulder off the doorframe and stepping into the kitchen. He eyed the sink o' dishes behind her. "You need any help in here with anythin'?"

"Nah, it's okay." Buffy finished wiping her hands on the kitchen towel and tossed it onto the countertop beside her. "I'll probably wait to clean most of it up tomorrow anyway."

The vampire nodded like he understood.

"So, as far as birthdays go where does this one rank on the list?" he asked, the thumb of his right hand slipping casually through his belt loop as he crossed the rest of the space between them. His eyes twinkled teasingly at her.

Buffy smiled and shook her head. Told him, "Well considering it wasn't my actual birthday, I'd have to say right near the tippy top."

That made the vampire laugh, a deep rumble, almost a purring in his chest that she swore she could feel all the way down to her toes. And she laughed along with him. Then sighed, feeling wistful. Leaned back against the edge of the counter and crossed her arms.

"Honestly," she began again, finding his eyes through the dim light in the kitchen. "It really _was_ pretty great. It was nice to have everybody here, and have everybody get along. I think if Mom had been here it would've been perfect."

That was maybe the single most obvious proof of how dramatically and fundamentally her relationship with Spike had changed. He was the only one she still talked to about Joyce.

"Can't argue with that," Spike agreed quietly, as if on cue. Like he could read her mind. "Reckon she'd have done a better job keepin' the punch out of the bit's reach."

Buffy laughed and nodded in agreement, grateful for the levity he'd gifted her with. Then she cleared her throat and looked at him again. Asked, "What are you still doing here, I thought you left when Anya and Xander did?"

The vampire shook his head.

"Just nipped out to do a quick sweep of the cemeteries, then circled back," he explained, turning his body so he could rest his hip against the countertop beside hers. "Didn't get a chance to give you your present yet."

Buffy stood up straighter and turned toward him. "You got me a present?"

Oh, _God_ , did she sound as pathetically excited as she felt?

The answer if the very amused expression on the vampire's face was any indication? A resounding yes.

"'S not much," he warned her.

Did he sound worried? She thought he sounded worried.

She couldn't quite tell.

"I'll be the judge of that," she said, reassuring him. She clapped her hands together and glanced around the two of them, then made a face. "Okay, see, I heard the word present but definitely don't _see_ one. What gives?"

He rolled his eyes but chuckled, still seeming a little unsure of himself. Which was shockingly endearing. And a little confusing, because she'd never seen him lacking at the very least the _appearance_ of arrogance.

"Not the kind of present you open, pet," he explained, turning his gaze down to the small stretch of counter top between them. Expression thoughtful, voice smooth. "Figured you'd get more'n enough junk from the rest of the Scoobies. Thought I'd give you somethin' you actually need instead."

Her brow furrowed. "I didn't know I needed anything."

Spike looked up at her through the fringe of thick, dark lashes. "Wager it's fairly obvious what it is you need, Slayer."

Buffy's body temperature changed. The same way it had in his crypt that afternoon, in the cemetery under the light of the moon over a week ago. Sudden, a rush of cold followed by immediate heat and the subtle but there speeding of her pulse.

 _Oh, God._

Mouth dry, she swallowed. Said flatly, "It is."

He nodded and stood up straight again.

"Yeah," he said, tilting his head to the side. Eyes steady and fixed on hers, he leaned just a tiny bit closer to her. Dropped his gaze to her mouth. Inhaled through his nose and murmured, "A break."

Oh.

Buffy shifted away from him again.

 _Oh._

She exhaled the breath she'd been holding.

Disappointed, trying her very best to hide it, she made a face at him. Pursed her lips and repeated, "A break?"

He nodded. "Know all about the week you have off from school comin' up, the Niblet filled me in. Think you should take that week off from everything. Classes, work, patrol, all of it."

 _Idiot._

"Sounds nice," she murmured, stepping away from the sink and away from him. Cleared her throat and began busying herself with the pizza boxes on the kitchen island.

"Glad you think so."

"Yeah, too bad it's not possible."

The vampire pushed himself off the countertop now, frowning deeply. "Why not?"

Buffy picked up the stacked, empty cardboard and turned toward him, feeling silly. And mad. And silly for being mad.

It was all very confusing.

So she exhaled and said, "Spike, I have big, real world, life or death style responsibilities." She skirted around him to head for the back door. "I can't just take a week off."

"You bloody well can," the vampire insisted from behind her, raising his voice. She could feel his eyes on her as she opened the back door, tossed the pizza boxes out into the trash. Sounding annoyed himself as he added, "I can handle patrol on my own for a measly week, Buffy."

"No one's saying you can't," she countered, shutting the door and turning around. Keenly aware of how unfair, how irrational, she was being. And unable to stop it anyway. "I just don't think now is—"

"Bollocks," he snapped, cutting her off. His own irritation clearly rising. "Now's the perfect time. Nothin's happening that I can't handle. You're exhausted all the sodding time, you've got everyone frettin' over you." He moved to slide in front of her to block her path into the dining room, grabbing her by the elbows for good measure. "Whether you can see it or not, we can."

Buffy didn't fight his hold on her.

She might have before. Been annoyed with him and shoved him away when he'd tried to hold her in place like this. But instead, she stood very still, eyeing him warily through narrowed eyes. His hands felt cool and smooth against her arms. Strong, steady.

Nice.

 _God._

"See what?" she asked, sounding tired.

"That you're runnin' yourself ragged, luv," he told her, both his expression and his grip softening. Then he perked a brow and added, " _And_ you're too damn stubborn to do anythin' about it on your own."

She stared straight at him. Blinked a few times. Hated the fact that he was right, and the reality that what he was offering…while maybe not exactly what she'd been hoping for…was the best present of any that she'd gotten at her party.

By far.

But she was still annoyed. Unfairly annoyed, but annoyed none the less, and unable to open her mouth to tell the stupid bleached vampire just _why_ it was she was so annoyed.

So instead she sighed, softened a bit herself, and asked him, "So your present is forcing a vacation on me?"

Spike slid his hands down her arms until they fell away from her skin all together, freeing her to move away from him.

She didn't.

He noticed.

Then he smiled and said, "Somethin' like that, yeah." Eyes glittering like they were in on some kind of inside joke, he teased her. "Even mythical defenders of the innocent deserve some time off."

Being annoyed with him suddenly seemed very petty.

"Okay," she agreed simply.

Spike looked surprised.

He blinked at her and shifted back, scanning her eyes. "Okay?"

"Yeah, okay," she said again, going for a little more earnest this time. She searched the blue of his eyes, such a _blue_ blue, flecked with gold, and she smiled. "Thanks."

Spike smiled back, looking relieved. "Don't mention it, luv."

Her arm shot out like it had a mind of its own, without any rational thought or impulse control from her brain. Flew out and grabbed him around the wrist to hold him, keep him in place.

"No," she said quickly, before she could think about it or change her mind. "I mean...not just for my present. Thanks for everything. All of it. I don't say it..." she trailed off and laughed humorlessly, dropping her gaze. "Well, ever I guess…"

"Don't rightly need you t—" Spike began, but Buffy shook her head, cut him off before he could finish.

"I know you don't _need_ me to, you idiot. That isn't...what I'm trying to say is...God, I am just _really_ awful at this." She dropped her hold on his arm and turned away from him, feeling silly. And stupid. And useless in the words department. "I've never been great at the whole putting words into sentences thing."

"Hey," he said, and it was his turn to reach for her. Grab her arm and tug her back around to face him. "I mean it. I don't do all this for the recognition, Buffy."

"Then why do you do it?" she asked.

It was a stupid question.

"You really don't know?" he asked back, looking at her through narrowed eyes.

She kissed him.

Her hands on either side of his face, parted lips pressed to his, she inhaled his scent. Tasted him. Alcohol and cigarette smoke, fresh cut grass, wind. Like the vampire himself, there were so many different nuances, flavors. Salty, tart, surprisingly sweet. And his mouth was icy, and his lips were as full and freakishly soft as she'd been thinking they'd be.

It only took a second. One, or maybe just half of one, and the vampire was kissing her back.

She felt the change in him immediately, the tightening of his grip around her biceps as he pulled her flush against him and the delicious, rumbling growl that vibrated against her lips and sent a wave of white-hot desire shooting down to pool in her belly.

When their lips finally separated, both their chests heaving and both their mouths softly swollen, they didn't pull apart. Stayed close together instead. Avoided eye contact. Swallowing, the taste of him still cool on her tongue, Buffy let her hands fall from his angled cheeks down to his shoulders. He was rubbing absent minded circles into her arms with his thumbs.

"Whoa," she finally breathed, lashes fluttering rapidly.

Spike exhaled slowly through his nose. "Agreed."

"Are we…" she paused and bit her bottom lip, chancing a glance up into his face. "Um, I mean…" She wrinkled her nose. "Do we need to talk about this?"

The vampire squeezed her arms once, eyes scanning her face hungrily. He slid his hands up to ghost over her neck, further up to cradle her face. Then tilted his head to the side and asked, voice honeyed and low, "What's there to talk about?"

She tingled all over again, cheeks hot. "You kissed me."

"No," he countered, leaning forward, letting the tip of his nose ghost over hers. "You kissed me."

"You kissed me back," Buffy corrected them both, tilting her head to the side to mimic him and digging her fingernails into the soft cotton of his t-shirt.

"I did at that," he agreed, then grinned and curled his tongue behind his teeth. Leaned forward. Whispered silkily, "And I intend to do it again."

Buffy laughed, the sound quickly muffled as she smiled against him and let him capture her lips again. Slipped her hands into the curls at the nape of his neck.

 _Best present ever._


End file.
